


Carlo's Bakery

by sunnysideup



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Liam is a baker, M/M, Zayn is an artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnysideup/pseuds/sunnysideup
Summary: Where Zayn can’t bake. Zayn is skint,  Liam runs a bakery, Liam has a vacancy in the bakery, Zayn’s best mate can bake, Zayn tells a white lie and this is what happens next. With added epilogue.  (couldn't think of a better title)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Cami for her birthday.

On a sliding scale of decisions Zayn’s made in his life, copying and pasting bits from Harry’s CV, which was saved on their computer at home, putting them into his own CV and adding a summary at the top of his CV all about how “I’m ready for the next stage of my career, creating the finest cakes and pastries for everyone to enjoy” was probably the worst in his life.

Well, actually no, printing  the CV off, changing into something smart but casual and walking  the 10 minutes it took to walk to the cafe and the job his new and ‘improved’ CV was for, handing it over and trying  his best not to do an impression of Joey in Friends when he lied as the girl on the counter shouted for the owner that “Someone else has applied boss,” and as she looked down she added “And bloody hell, he’s perfect for the job.”  Was definitely the worst. 

Until the boss had walked out, and the reason for his decision, well part of it at least stood in front of him, also needing money was a factor because artists in the middle of a recession apparently aren’t all that in demand but yeah the boss. 

Liam Payne. 

Zayn’s been coming to this bakery/cafe since it opened. Carlo’s Bakery is the name. And why it’s called that when Liam is called, well, Liam he doesn’t know. 

It was the smell of the bread and the pastries that filtered out, that made him think of home that got him through the door, but it was the fella with the shy smile, full and lush pink lips, the close shaved hair, with the light smattering  of facial hair, the biceps that flexed whether he was trying to figure out how to use the coffee machine that looked more some kind of NASA sanctioned experiment than an instrument to get a hot drink from or he was in the room next to the seating area which you get a glimpse of just through a little window where you could see him creating the cakes or the pastries, his biceps working  as he kneaded the dough or stirred the flour and the eggs, that made him come back over and over.  

Liam who’d walked out from the other room, covered in bits of flour, and a smudge of cake mixture on his cheek, which Zayn wanted to wipe away with his fingers and then kiss the soft skin, taken the CV from Alison, that’s her name he thinks, and then as he read it made approving noises till he put it down and looked at Zayn.

“This is yours?” He’d looked shocked.  “You mean you can do all this, and your amazing art?”

It had been Zayn’s turn to look shocked then because they’d exchanged a hello from time to time, but that had been it. Zayn wanted more, he’d watched as the business had grown, watched as more and more seats started to appear in the cafe and outside on the pavement, as more and more customers came and he’d see familiar faces, and yet in all this time, all they’d say was “Hello,” and Liam in the early days would take his order, his cheeks turning pink but Zayn was sure that happened with everyone anyway and that would be it.

And yet Liam knew Zayn was an artist, and not only that, he said he was amazing, but how would he know and he’d been lost in that thought, the how’s and the whys when he caught the end of Liam’s next sentence.

“-you start?”

“Sorry?” He’d replied.

Liam had smiled.  “I don’t think I need to give you an interview, not with a CV like this and all the others we’ve had, have been utterly shit, and yet you, “he’d gestured with his hands then to Zayn “and this, this CV, well, if you’re sure you haven’t fallen down, banged your head and applied for this job by mistake then when can you start?”.

Actually, the worst, the single most stupid decision Zayn had ever made in his entire life was to reply with “Umm, tomorrow?”

And then turn up. 

**

Truth is that the 2 days since he started have been brilliant. Liam’s the ideal kind of boss, funny, easy to work with, he’s not like the celebrity chefs or bakers you see on the TV, he’s not an arse, oh and add to that, that he’s even better close up and well it’s pretty ideal, this job.

Of course the fact he hasn’t had to bake yet helps.  Alison had come down with a stomach bug which meant she couldn’t come into contact with food for 48 hours so Liam had very apologetically asked Zayn if he wouldn’t mind holding the fort out front and dealing with the customers just till Alison was better.

Mind?  Zayn could have kissed Alison. 

Turned out he was a dab hand at the coffee machine, the squiggles and artful shapes he’d put in the coffee being a roaring success with the customers, and he and Liam were a team. 

It worked. Just like that.  He’d even found out why Liam had called the bakery, Carlo’s.

“Well Payne’ Pastries is just too naff, so’s Liam’s loaves or Louis suggested Payno’s Pukka Pasties and well I don’t even make pasties so I just thought of my old home economics teacher in school who was called Carlo, he was all big with a bushy beard, massive smile on his face always and he was so friendly, he inspired me and I would have loved to have had him here, think he would have been proud, except he died the year after I left school so it sort of seemed fitting ”

He’d shrugged, blushing and turned away to check the oven when a thought had formed in Zayn’s head.

**

That was yesterday and the day before, and Zayn almost forgot that baking was his job.

Right until he turned the corner, saw Alison put the last of the chairs outside and on seeing Zayn, she waved and smiled.

Add not turning round and running all the way home and leaving the country right then to his list of bad decisions. 

Instead, his feet had betrayed him, and he’d pushed open the door, plastering on a smile as he did.

The first few hours hadn’t been that bad, he’d watched and listened as Liam explained what to do and what the ‘Carlo’s bakery way of doing things’ was. 

He’d even managed after a fashion to do some mixing of ingredients, cobbled together a tray of butterfly cakes which Liam had been so sincere and kind about even though a 12 year old could make them. 

They’d even had a mini food fight, which by the state of them both at the end was a draw.

The French fruit tarts were his undoing.  One attempt, then two and each had ended up in the bin.

But instead of telling him to leave, demanding to know why he lied Liam had smiled, patted Zayn on his shoulder and said.

“It’s always worse when the boss is here, so me and Ali have got to head to the wholesalers, that’s why we shut the shop every Wednesday afternoon, we’ll be away for a few hours so you can relax a bit, make it like it’s your kitchen, your bakery and it’ll be fine,” Liam had placed his hand on Zayn’s shoulder then gently and Zayn had turned his eyes to look at him, before Liam added. “You’ll be fine, just relax.”

And then the hand was gone, and with a shout of “Happy Baking” and the sound of the door as it crashed closed, he was alone.

Alone with two options, the first, leaving and never coming back and old Zayn, the Zayn of just last week, hell just a day or two ago would’ve been gone and out the door the second he knew Liam and Alison were out of sight. 

But something feels like it’s shifted, because he knew he liked Liam, but he likes this place, likes the familiarity, likes feeling like he’s part of something, something that’s happening, that’s not just him clicking refresh on his email waiting for a new commission to come in. 

In his time at home, Zayn sits and doodles art that’s for the cafe, signs and menus, and things that could work. 

But each time he thinks that, he remembers that he’s only here on the back of a spectacular lie, of deceit and sooner or later, he suspects sooner, he’ll have to confess, he’ll fuck up so monumentally or even almost burn this place down and then he won’t have a right to be a part of this, part of this world that’s Liam’s.

He isn’t ready for that though, he’s not ready for the alternative either or what that’ll bring but its more palatable than admitting to something he’s not yet ready to.

So he walks to the small back room where his jacket hangs, pulls out his phone, takes a deep breath, presses a couple of buttons and lifts the phone to his ear and says “Haz, I’m at Carlo’s Bakery, I’ll explain when you’re here but please come.”

**

It takes Harry 10 minutes to get to the bakery and then another 10 minutes to stop laughing when he sees Zayn with the Carlo’s Bakery pinnie on, and with the flour, and bits of butter caked on his face.

“I’m sorry, it’s just you, you burn milk and you can’t even make omelettes and yet you’re here in a pinnie in this bakery, and it’s like I’ve entered a parallel universe or maybe you’re an alien who stole my friend Zayn’s body?”

Harry crosses the room to stand in front of Zayn, staring deep into his eyes.  The eyes that Zayn rolls as he does so.

“Fuck off, it’s me, and this is me and I’m here and I need your help before Liam comes back in a couple of hours to a burned out building that used to be his dream business.”

The moment Harry tilts his head to one side, he knows he’s in trouble.  

“So this job you’ve got, it’s as a baker right, cause this Liam, he already has cafe staff, you with your CV and though you’re the best artist I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and well if the rumours are true, then you’re pretty fucking amazing with your hands in other ways too, you can’t cook for shit and so how did you even land this job, I mean I’d be amazing but I’ve already got 2 jobs and well, just how? And well, why?”

It’s like pulling a band aid off thinks Zayn, what he’s about to do. The quicker he says it, the less painful it’ll be.

“I needed the money, haven’t paid you rent in months, sick of the same four walls each day when I’m not here, and I come here most days anyway and I like it, and well you shouldn’t leave your CV on the same drive as mine if you don’t want me to borrow it and I thought, one little thing like fluffing up my CV, well how hard can it be to bake a French tart?”

He drops his gaze to the ground and mutters. “Apparently too fucking hard for me.”

There’s a sigh that comes from next to him, and then an arm wraps round his shoulders. 

“You daft sod, I should be mad at you for doing that with my CV but instead I want to hug you, you wally, what have I told you about never having to worry about the rent, you helped me out for the first year or two when I was doing all the catering courses,  we shared the flat when all the commissions were coming in and I could barely scrape together 2 quid, now it’s my turn to help you out, take the strain, “ Harry pauses then.

“It’s not just the money though is it, you’ve talked about this place every day for all these months since it opened, about Liam, the things we do for love eh?”

Zayn shrugs Harry’s arm then. “Fuck off, I don’t love him, barely even know him, he’s sound though, dead kind, patient and I just don’t want to let him down.”

“Don’t want to make him do his puppy eyes you mean, I’ve been here too mate, anyone with half a brain would like him, “ Harry lowers his voice then nudges into Zayn as he says “or more.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but the thing is Harry’s not wrong and right now Harry could be giving him all kinds of shit for stealing the bits from his CV, but instead he’s this.  

And he knows Harry will never let him forget this, but it won’t be with malice. 

“What time are they due back?” Harry’s voice brings him back to the present.

“Said they’d be a few hours and that was half an hour ago.” Zayn replies.

Harry nods, walks to the other side of the room to the hanger on the wall where Liam’s pinnie hangs and puts it over his head, before he reaches for a hairnet from the cabinet next to it and puts on a pair of gloves before he claps his hands together.

“Best get cracking then eh?”

**

Zayn gets away with it that one time, and Harry has him up till gone 3am the following morning baking cakes and putting’ together French tarts.

And after a fashion, Zayn has it sussed.  He’s too creative, too good at constructing things that have art in them to not at least be half decent.

But it doesn’t feel like enough and so the next morning when he wakes and its Thursday which he has off because the cafe’s open on Saturdays and half days on Sundays, he’d normally draw, normally doodle and of late he’d normally carry on with the stuff he’s been creating for the cafe. 

Instead, he spends the entire day baking and perfecting the French tarts, he creates muffins and fairy cakes with icing that starts off all over the place, but ends up “Fucking ace” or so Harry says as he eats 6 in one go.

He starts to feel better about himself, but with that feeling comes a feeling of guilt, of not being honest, and the fact is he isn’t Harry, he isn’t this baker, and yes, he can learn quickly and maybe given several months he could be halfway good enough to consider applying.

Instead, though that selfish need to get some money, and do it that way next to someone he didn’t even really know that well but knew instinctively he wanted to know well.

That had over ridden everything and it shocks him, it shakes him that all his principles flew out the window.  

He stares down at himself, at the pinnie he’s wearing which is covered in flour, eggs, butter, jam, you name it. 

At the bits of flour that cover his arms, the tattoos that are the true him, at the artwork on the walls that’s his that Harry insisted they put all over the flat, and he thinks of the one thing his mum always tells him.

“Be true to yourself, even if it costs you.”

The one time in his life that he let that slip, the least he can do is try and pull that back and there’s a way at least he can try and soften the blow tomorrow.

So he takes the pinnie off, washes his hands and his arms and walks to the room next to his, pulls the key out of his trouser pocket and opens the door, and he pulls out the artwork, the metallic sign and the piece of paper which is covered both sides with doodles and words and he puts them all in a bag checks his wallet to make sure the credit cards are in and heads to the door. 

**

_The next day_

Zayn arrives at the cafe, a couple of hours before everyone else on Friday.  Liam had entrusted him with a key and so he lets himself in, busies himself initially with putting the chairs down from where they rest upturned on the tables.

It’s raining outside at the moment, so he doesn’t go and get any to put outside, instead he heads to the kitchen, puts on his pinnie and the pair of gloves, puts on the hairnet and from the fridge he pulls out the supplies he needs, before heading into the larder and doing the same there. 

When everything’s ready and all he’s waiting for is the stuff in the oven to be ready, and for Liam and Alison to arrive, he pulls the cards out of his bag and places them around the tables and a few on the counter.

He stares at the sign that rests in his bag but he doesn’t put it out yet.

All he can do is wait, and he’s prepared the words in his head, and yet none of it ever comes out right.

He lied.  That’s the long and short of it.

“Oh my god, something smells amazing.” 

His thoughts are interrupted by the voice first and then the beaming face of Liam’s as he shuts the front door of the cafe behind him.

“What time did you get here? I thought I was an early bird, but wow Zaynie. “

The nickname should feel good, should feel amazing, but instead it just hammers another weight that adds to the sinking feeling in his stomach. 

He musters up a smile from somewhere and he’s just about to say “It’s nothing,” when Liam spots the little cards, picks up one and Zayn can only see the side of his face.

But he sees how his jaw almost drops, before there’s the hint of a smile, and Liam mouths something that Zayn can’t make out before he turns and its worse than Zayn imagined because he’s smiling, Liam’s smiling but then there’s what looks like moisture in his eyes, and there’s a single stray tear.

“I never showed you a picture of Carlo, only got one actually in the house, it’s a terrible one, all blurry and just your typical school photo, but you’ve nailed it Zayn, this  _is_  Carlo, this is amazing, just incredible”  then he takes a step closer and breathes out “Thank you, this is going to work so well, and you know it wasn’t the same without you yesterday, you’ve only been here five minutes and you’re already part of the furniture.” 

He says it with a grin and then as he passes Zayn, lightly touches his arm, and Zayn can’t help it, he shuts his eyes, trying to think of how good it feels and not how each excited word from Liam makes it worse but then Liam’s talking again.

“Listen, you go and get what you’ve been baking out the oven and get it all ready to put out and then Alison’s not in till later so if you don’t mind working out front on the counter till she comes in and then when she is, we can work on everything, I’ll show you the ropes some more and I was thinking of profiteroles unless you’ve got any better ideas.”

Zayn turns round then, and Liam’s in the kitchen now so Zayn follows him and Liam’s there, this grin on his face and Zayn knows he could wait, should probably wait till Alison arrives so at least Liam won’t be alone but each second he delays it, it feels worse, the lie gets bigger.

“Liam, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah I know we do, and yeah I know I rush off and come up with too many ideas and I’m like a bull in a china shop but you Zayn, you’re incredible and I never thought you’d want this even just temporarily and I can see the potential and it just-”.

“I made up the CV,” it comes out rushed, too rushed. 

Liam blinks as though he’s heard, but he shakes his head and murmurs “Think am hearing things, anyway, best get those tarts out the oven and get the till ready for serving.”

“You didn’t mishear Liam, I made up the CV, made up everything about baking, it’s my mate Harry who bakes, not just bakes he does amazing things, just like you and he works for this posh restaurant in Mayfair, and another in Kensington and it’s just I’ve been here each week, every day since you opened, and I needed the money okay, and I needed to know you,  _wanted_  to, and I’d just had a bank statement and I was sick of it, and it was so stupid and so impulsive and I never meant for it to happen and I thought I’ll last for five minutes and then I’ll be gone and it won’t matter but then I realised working with you was even better than I thought it’d be and I wanted to learn, and I so want to learn, so want to help you make this bakery everything you want it to be but.”

The words die on his lips and there’s a silence then, and if Zayn ever wanted to know what kicking a puppy looked like, now he knows.

Except it’s worse. 

“So you thought you’d shit on it all, shit on all my dreams,, and it’d be fine cause nice Liam’s always easy-going, and Liam likes me so you know I’ll take advantage of it, and fuck the business, fuck anyone else’s feelings,” he crosses the kitchen and then walks out into the cafe, picking up one of the cards. “Was this all part of it too? Get a foot in the door and then sell your art, Zayn you only had to ask, and I’d have done it like a shot, but this.”

The card drops to the floor and then Liam walks past him back into the kitchen and says quietly but clearly.

“Get out.”

“Liam.”

Liam doesn’t reply this time, instead he shakes his head, his back to Zayn’s and he doesn’t move an inch. 

Zayn could do a million things in his life, all of them mistakes and none of them would feel like this he thinks. 

He glances at his bag, at the sign that’s in it still, along with the pad with the doodles, and for a moment he thinks about picking it up, telling Liam about it but instead he pulls off the pinnie, the hairnet, and the gloves and pulls on his jacket and with a small glance back, he says quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

**

_6 months later._

Life carries on like it used to for Zayn, before the bakery existed that is.

Except for one thing, all his art turns into drawings and doodles of food, he doodles men with soft eyes, wide smiles on one side of the page and on the other, the same man with stiff shoulders, eyes that speak of hurt and pain.

Somewhere along the line he finds his rhythm, the old rhythm, the pain and the sense of loss he has no right to feel and yet still does means that art pours from him, and soon he attracts the attention of people who’d forgotten about him, and soon he has enough art and enough people enquiring that he doesn’t have to worry about money anymore.

In his spare time, in his thinking time and he has a lot of it, he thinks of bakeries, of dreams for the future, of what could’ve been.

Every so often, Harry tries to talk to him about Liam.  About the bakery.  He’s become this all knowing relationship expert suddenly since he met some lad from Yorkshire.

He bakes too.  Zayn does.  Still can’t really make an omelette, but ask him to bake a cake and Zayn’s your man.

Chocolate eclairs are his forte, oozing with cream.  

He moves on, after a fashion. It’s been Zayn’s way since he was a kid, he may act the brooding type and he’s done a lot of that lately, but he’s an optimist, the world’s too full of worse, much worse shit happening to others, for him to stay down too long, or become too wrapped up in himself. 

And that’s fine, but Liam.  Yeah….Liam.  

He’s on his way back from the centre of London, from visiting the place where his exhibition will be next week when the line he’d normally take starts cancelling all the trains, signal failure apparently. 

He could walk home, but it’d take him hours and in winter that’s even less appealing than normal. 

He could get a cab, but he’s not that rich yet and there’s still this caution and worry that this current good spell for his work could end at anytime.

Or he could switch to the other line that actually takes him closer to home, but that he’s been avoiding for months because of where it takes him.  

The thing is, he can’t go on avoiding it forever.  So he walks down to the other end of the platform, runs up the stairs and a train arrives within 10 seconds, and in his head somewhere there’s a little voice saying,

“Perhaps it’s meant to be.”

By the time he gets off the train 10 minutes later and outside, there are little flecks of snow falling, and London can look desolate at times, but sometimes it looks beautiful in winter, and the snow falling as he walks along the tree lined streets almost feels magical.

He turns the corner and there it is, in front of him, as he glances at his watch, he sees its 3.44pm, so not that long before it closes for the night, the lights are on and there’s a Christmas tree in the window.

He’s about to move on, because while there’s this urge, this voice in his head that says “As much as anything else Zayn, you’re cold and you’re famished, why not?”

There’s another voice saying’ “Just leave it in the past.” and he’s about to do that, listen to that sensible voice when he glances upwards and he sees the sign. 

Before he can stop himself, he’s crossing the road and there’s the beep of a horn that makes him run the last bit but he never takes his eye from the sign.

 _His_  sign, of Carlo.  Just a larger version of what he drew for the cards on the tables and counters.   The one that he’d had made up the day before he told the truth.

And the other voice, the rogue the one that told him to step inside, it’s louder now but once again he resists, because it’s enough to know that on one level at least, it’s forgiven. 

He’s forgiven. 

So he turns away, carries on walking, and he’s about 100 metres down the road, trying to remind himself, it’s for the best, when he hears his name.

“Zayn?”

He stops, but he doesn’t turn round. 

“Alison saw you, and started screeching and yelled at me to follow you, and I didn’t move so she pushed me out the door. “

Zayn turns.  Liam’s there, his hair’s grown a little, and it’s got this little curl to it that’s too endearing and he looks freezing as he’s just in a t-shirt with the pinnie over it and his jeans, and trainers.

He looks better than he remembers, looks happier than the last memory of him. 

“You saw the sign?  I didn’t look inside your bag for weeks, shoved it in a cupboard, banned all mention of you, put the cards away in a drawer till Alison found them all, confronted me and told I was a dickhead for not using them or your ideas about the branded stuff, but I wouldn’t budge, then my best mate Louis fell for your mate, the baker, Harry and he kept talking about his best mate Zayn and how his best mate Zayn had just learned how to cook chocolate eclairs and how Harry was getting fatter, and then I knew.”

He takes a step closer to Zayn.

“I kept pumping him for information and Louis would look at me like I was barmy, and Harry was all, you don’t even know this guy and then the penny dropped, and he’d tell me about you, about the exhibition coming up and well, I bought a ticket without ever intending to go,but, listen Zayn, what you did was stupid but then again I’ve done stupid things like bungee jump when I’d had a skinful the day before, or fallen in love with the idea of someone just based on the way their lips move a little bit as they read the paper in my cafe, or the way their arms, their tattoos tell a story..”

“What?”

“That’s you by the way, thing is I was as mad at me as I was at you, first time you came into the bakery, the first day I’d laid out tables just in case it caught on, you and me had this chat and you said you couldn’t make an omelette and that you were serious, and yet I ignored that, just wanted to believe in it, needed the staff, and perhaps you.”  

Liam finishes his words with a shrug, but then he shivers, and rubs his arms up and down.

And this time, Zayn gives into the rogue voice in his head.

“You daft sod, coming out here without a coat on, like something in the movies running after the lost hero, so  well,  do you still do them home made Jaffa cakes, the ones where they ooze in the middle?”

Liam snorts, starts to laugh, and his eyes crinkle, and it’s like the world warms around Zayn.

“Lost hero indeed, you twat, but yeah, yeah I do, have an after eight version for Christmas too, and you can have it on one of our ‘I love Carlo’s bakery’ branded plates as well if you like.”

Zayn smiles, can’t help himself, thrilled at the idea Liam’s used his ideas, thrilled at the tentative steps of being back in Liam’s life, even a bit and then he says.

“Come on then, come on, before you freeze to death.”  They walk toward back towards the cafe, next to each other, catching a glance every so often at the other before Zayn says.

“Still can’t make an omelette by the way, best chocolate eclair and French tarts in the land though.”

Liam grins, then as they reach the cafe door, and Alison’s got her coat on, and grins happily at the sight of them before she waves and leaves them alone. 

“I’ll bear that in mind, then, for next time, next time I’ve got a vacancy or well, some other time.”

As they step inside and as Liam turns round he adds. “Because there’ll be a next time and that thing you said that day about wanting to get to know me, well that starts now, we start now.”

Zayn doesn’t mind the sound of that one bit.  Thinks that on the scale of decisions, 1 being awful, 10 being amazing, getting on the other tube line today, is an 11. 


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains pure fluff

_9 years later_

The wind buffets Zayn as he turns the corner.  It’s the middle of winter, Christmas Eve in fact and there’s a part of him that wants to shove his hands into his pockets or light a cigarette, anything that’ll warm him.

“Daddy, will dad be expecting us?”  As he peers down at the hand that clutches his left hand, that’s enough to warm him, and then some.

Their adopted son. Samuel, who’s peering  back up at Zayn now, wrapped up in a winter coat, wellies, mittens and a panda hat Zayn bought him this afternoon on their shopping trip.

Samuel who’s six years old, and with his other hand adjusts the specs that he wears as he waits for an answer from Zayn.

“No love, he thinks you’re with Nanna Karen and grandie Geoff while I finish off my doodles.”

Doodles.  That’s a pretty casual name for the art that Zayn’s been gathering together for his exhibition in the first week of January. 

Samuel’s hand drops from Zayn’s then and even with the sound of the traffic, Zayn can hear the way he yelps excitedly and claps his hands together and then as his son’s hand clutches onto his own again, and with a small tug of his dad’s hand and “Hurry up then daddy.”  Zayn speeds up as they turn numerous corners, cross various roads. 

Eventually Samuel slows down, tired from the day and Zayn lifts him up and cuddles him close as they round a corner one last time.

Christmas lights cover the top of the street lights and there are Christmas trees in every shop window, and then right there in the middle is the shop. 

 _Their_  shop.  One of seven Carlo’s bakeries in the country in fact.  Building up a little empire these days between them. 

Their lives are transformed from how they were 9 years ago and 12 miles away from where Zayn and Samuel are now. 

Not just in wealth, but in every part of their lives. 

Each other’s missing jigsaw piece.   When they finally admitted it, there was no stopping them.

Engaged within 6 months of Liam stopping Zayn down the road that winter’s day.  Married within 2 years and then when every other part of their life felt sorted and when the only thing missing was clear to both of them, along came Samuel.

Yes they were busy, sometimes they went days without seeing each other if Zayn was abroad and there weren’t enough hours in the day for Zayn to express to anyone how grateful he was for this life.  For Liam. For Samuel.

But they were happy.  Ecstatic in fact.  Sometimes Zayn worries that he’s had it too good, until Liam reminds him they spent more than 20 years of their lives without each other. 

They deserve this now.

As they near the shop, Zayn whispers “We’re here Sammy, time to wake up love.”  His son opens his eyes and at the sight of the familiar lights of the toy shop 2 doors away from Carlo’s, his eyes light up and he beams, and fidgets in Zayn’s arms and says “Put me down please Daddy”.

Zayn had planned to surprise Liam in a stealthy way, put his fingers over his lips to shush Hannah in the shop so Liam wouldn’t know he’d just come in.

Stealth isn’t a word that six year olds are familiar with though.  Add to that subtlety and Samuel’s running ahead and crashing through the door of the shop before Zayn can shout

“If you ruin the surprise, Santa won’t come tomorrow.”

Zayn catches him and walks through the door just as Liam appears from the back, his face is a picture, well let’s face it Liam’s face is a picture all day, every day.

But right now if Zayn was the one to put definitions of words in dictionaries then next to joy, next to delight, next to sunshine and next to happiness, would be two words.

Liam Payne. 

Always has been really, but right now as Liam bends down to scoop up Samuel who practically collides with his other dad’s legs, its more evident than ever.

And Zayn knows he’s a reflection of Liam, grinning from ear to ear himself, and as he catches Hannah’s look.  Hannah who’s worked in this shop and one of the others for 4 years. Hannah who’s as much a part of the family as Alison who’s Area Supervisor now, he shrugs, helpless to stop himself from feeling pretty bloody smug really.

The shop is empty aside from Liam and Hannah, and at half three on Christmas Eve when anyone who is out and about is probably panic buying some shit and overpriced perfume or aftershave in Debenhams in the West End, it’s hardly a surprise. 

So any shyness, any need to keep it down a notch is completely gone from Zayn as he takes the two or three steps he needs, past the counter and where Liam stands, holding their son, smiling and saying to Zayn.

“You little bleep, wasn’t expecting you till later tonight, was planning on surprising you at the airport not the other way round here, now, come here I love you.”

Zayn doesn’t need asking twice as he presses his lips to Liam’s, hand resting gently on his cheek, caressing it before he wraps himself round both Liam and Samuel.

There’s the sound of a throat clearing behind them but Zayn doesn’t look up.

“As always, this should be so nauseating, and with anyone else it would be but you two are ridiculously cute, and then it’s unfair how you’ve got the cutest kid in the world, alright if I go boss, I’ve got to try and queue up at Toys R Us before I head home and tackle the Christmas Turkey and I don’t think we’ll get a last minute Christmas rush somehow.”

From underneath Zayn’s embrace, Liam frees his hand and says “Of course, head off, merry Christmas Hannah, thank you for everything.”

And with a clink of the bell as the door opens, and then closes, it’s just them.

They pull apart after a couple more minutes and Liam sets Samuel down who runs past the counter out in the shop and the corner where the toy chest is, pulls it open and pulls out a model car and then sits crossed legged on the ground talking to the car as he does.

Which leaves Liam next to Zayn, and Zayn can look at Liam properly now.  He’s in his baker outfit, hairnet over his hair which is longer and fluffier than it was in the summer, bit of warmth on his head for the winter.

The years have been kind to Liam. He suits his thirties, there are little flecks of white hair amongst the brown of his hair.  Laughter lines rather than lines of worry have taken root by his eyes.  

His mouth has a line that turns upwards not down and he’s everything and more to Zayn who leans in again and presses a kiss against his lips once more, as his right hand finds Liam’s and their fingertips caress each other’s.

As they pull apart, behind Liam, Zayn can see his own reflection.   The years haven’t done too badly for him either, his hair’s tied back at the moment, like his dad at his age, there are bits of grey at the roots of his hair, but he changes the colour so often, it’s hard to tell what’s proper grey and what’s not the remnants of the blues or the purples, the silvers or the pinks.

He has lines across his forehead but it’s not from worry or anything not really. Just life, just being a thirtysomething.

Liam’s other hand strokes against Zayn’s neck then.

“Hey, listen I’ve just got the last bit of baking to do for the next few days, then we can go home and try and convince his lordship down there that going to sleep is a better idea than staying up to watch his dads eat the carrot and have the brandy that he’s left for Santa.”

Zayn smiles, reluctantly lets go of Liam’s hand and watches as he walks into the back.

Zayn turns then, walks past the counter and glances at the corner where Samuel is still chattering happily to the toy car and telling him all about Christmas and how he can’t wait to eat all the turkey but not having any carrots bluerrhh.” before Zayn pulls out his set of keys from his jacket pocket, puts the key in the lock, turns it and then puts the keys back into his pocket, pulls down the blind and then turns back to look at the room.

The room that to this day since it opened, still has the signs, the artwork and the cards that Zayn designed all those years ago for the first bakery, in the corner, there’s a locked cabinet with ‘I love Carlo’s bakery’ souvenir items for each cafe as they spring up round the country.

And on the walls is Zayn’s art.  Not just food related art. In each of the bakeries, he’s done artwork for everyone who works there, spends days, if not weeks working in each one when they all start to get to know them, so that when he draws them, it’s not just a drawing of a person, it’s  _them_. 

Its part of what they are, the fabric of Carlo’s Bakery, the success of it, the success of them and how they make the business work, how they make the two of them, and now the three, and hopefully four or maybe five to come, if they’re lucky. 

This time of year, even when Zayn was little and it wasn’t really something they celebrated hugely, though they’d exchange little tokens so he and his sisters wouldn’t feel left out, makes Zayn so thankful. 

“Zaynie, any chance you could come and help,” comes the shout from the kitchen that interrupts Zayn and he calls back “Okay,” before he calls to Samuel.

“Wanna help me and your Dad in the kitchen, Sammy?”

Sam shakes his head.  “Me and car talking daddy.” 

“Okay, you carry on mate.”   Zayn replies fondly before he walks past the counter and into the back.

Where Liam’s got a mixing bowl on the table in front of him but he’s flexing his hands, looking pained.

“You okay babe?” Zayn crosses the short distance so he’s stood next to Liam who pouts.

“Think I’ve been overdoing it.” 

Zayn can’t help himself as the smirk finds its way onto his lips and Liam sees it and shakes his head at him.

“Sod off you, and help me.”

Before Zayn can stop him, he’s pulled in front of Liam and the wooden spoon is placed in his hands, and Liam’s hands fall on top of his and they start to stir.

“It’s like a scene from ghost this,” he giggles as he says it and the feel of Liam’s breath on the neck as he laughs too is heaven.

He’s not sure what makes him do what he does next, just this feeling of happiness, joy and just wanting to have a bit of fun, be a bit like they were in those days gone by, where he’d wake up in the middle of the night at home and find the space next to him empty and he’d pull a coat over the jogging bottoms he’d shove on and he’d sprint down to the bakery,  and find Liam there baking coming up with new recipes and it’d start with a dab of flour he’d flick onto Liam’s nose and Liam would throw him this glare that was about 2/10th’s convincing and 8/10th’s ‘oh you want some do you?” and after half an hour, they’d have to spend the next 2 hours cleaning the shop.

So with one hand that Liam lets go off immediately, he dips a finger into the mixture and quickly before Liam can resist, he turns round and the spoon drops onto the floor and presses the mixture against Liam’s nose, bopping it as he does.

Liam looks down, almost shocked for a moment before he lifts a hand up to his nose, touches it with his little finger and stares at the mixture.

“Oh you didn’t just do that Zayn Javadd Malik-Payne.”

Zayn bites his lips, raises his eyebrows, places a hand on either hip and straightens his shoulders. “Oh I just did Liam James Malik-Payne.”

“I’ve only got this to do and then we can go home,” protests Liam but the pout that threatens to form on his lips dies as he adds “Ah fuck it, we don’t need another lot of sausage rolls.”

Zayn nods, feeling smug but as he nods, as he briefly shuts his eyes, he misses Liam turning away, he misses Liam picking up the packet of flour.

He doesn’t miss the flour as half of it lands on him, half of it ends up on the floor and Liam starts to laugh.

“Oh it’s on Payno.”  Zayn shouts and then he’s lifting up the spoon, scooping out the mixture from the bowl before he thinks “Oh fuck it.” and chases Liam round the kitchen, laughter bubbling up inside him so he has to pause for a moment before he feels water soak down his back and he turns and Liam’s grinning as he holds the plastic measuring jug before he drops it as Zayn flicks bits of mixture from the bowl at him.

The sound of their laughter echoes round the room, and they could go on like this forever, and probably would but then there’s a bit of mixture on the floor and it’s like one of those cartoons where someone falls over and the legs spin in the air as Liam falls to the ground and there’s a thud and for a moment, time stops and Zayn worries that he’s hurt himself before he finds himself tugged to the ground too and he lands on top of Liam.

Liam’s who’s got flour all over him, bits of mixture on his cheeks and forehead and egg yolk caked in his hair and Zayn’s sure he’s the same, and Liam’s never looked better.

And he presses his lips against Liam’s who murmurs “Merry Christmas Mr Malik-Payne.”

Zayn’s about to say the same back when a face comes into view and he hears.

“I don’t know what daddy and dad are doing either Mr Car but they’re very rude not to invite us.”

Zayn’s heart fills so much, the sight of his son who takes his glasses off carefully, places the toy car on the ground and then throws his arms towards his parents and Zayn climbs off Liam and they next to each other, letting their son climb all over them and Zayn finds the wooden spoon on the floor, next to him, and with his little finger lifts some of the remaining mixture off, dabs it on Samuel’s nose who falls into helpless giggles and it really is perfect.

This world. This life.  And that decision, that impulse decision 7 and a half years ago, that felt like it was a zero, feels like a million right now.

Feels like the best thing a man ever did in his entire life. 

 

 

 


End file.
